Mossy gray stands the House, four-square to the wind,
Embosomed in the hills. The garden old
Of yew and box and fishpond speaks her mind,
Sweet-ordered, quaint, recluse, fold within fold
Of quietness; but true and choice and kind—
A sober casket for a heart of gold.
BLUE IRIS
Blue is the Adrian sea, and darkly blue
The Ægean; and the shafted sun thro' them,
That fishes grope to, gives the beamy hue
Rayed from her iris's deep diadem.
THE ROSEBUD
In June I brought her roses, and she cupt
One slim bud in her hand and cherisht it,
And put it to her mouth. Rose and she supt
Each other's sweetness; but the flower was lit
By her kind eyes, and glowed. Then in her breast
She laid it blushing, warm and doubly blest.
SPRING ON THE DOWN
When Spring blows o'er the land, and sunlight flies
Across the hills, we take the upland way.
I have her waist, the wooing wind her eyes
And lips and cheeks. His kissing makes her gay
As flowers. "Thou hast two lovers, O my dear,"
Say I; and she, "He takes what thou dost fear."
SNOWY NIGHT
The snow lies deep, ice-fringes hem the thatch;
I knock my shoes, my Love lifts me the latch,
Shows me her eyes—O frozen stars, they shine
Kindly! I clasp her. Quick! her lips are mine.